What Makes a Hawkeye
by Sandylee007
Summary: How did Clint Barton become Hawkeye and the man he is? Four singular events helped shape the character we know. Some journeys are more harrowing than others.
1. Water

A/N: DON'T ASK where this idea came from! I felt a story-idea coming, sat down and… BAM. We'll see just what my head cooked up this time…!

DISCLAIMER: OH, PLEASE…! NOOOOPE. I seriously don't own ANYTHING. Just… borrowing a beloved character. (starts purring) And coming up with all sorts of insane messes for him. BUT, the point is, ME NO OWN.

WARNINGS: Mentions and more likely than not description of violence… Some vulgar language (so not for Steve's sensitive ears)… WEIRDNESS in heaps, as per usual with my tales… OI, don't stomp each other on your way out!

Okay, because stalling is rude… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

(EXTENDED VERSION OF A SCENE FROM ONE OF MY OLD 'SOS' TALES)

* * *

 ** _What Makes a Hawkeye_**

* * *

Water

* * *

It was the perfect summer day. Sun was shining, yet it wasn't warm enough to feel uncomfortable. Everything about the secluded little swimming-spot was perfect. The trees surrounding the almost white, soft sand. The clear water. Clint Barton's favorite part, however, was that for once his father was sober. Even in a good enough mood to prepare sandwiches for them.

Unfortunately Barney seemed determined to ruin the pleasant day. His older brother argued their father over anything imaginable. Apparently even the sandwiches were soggy. And as per usual, their father was too eager to rise to the bait.

It broke Clint's heart, even if he would've never admitted as much. There wasn't supposed to be fighting today. They promised, because it was his birthday! It was the only gift he asked for!

In the end Clint escaped to the water. There, with his ears under the surface, no arguing could be heard. There was just peace, and the soothing feel of the gentle waves caressing him. Clint didn't think he'd felt that good and relaxed in… he had no idea how long.

Unfortunately, that was when fate decided to start operating against him.

The problem was that Clint was only five at the time. Too young for a parent to take their eyes off during swimming. And he had too little swimming experience.

Clint had no idea how far from the shore he'd ended up until it was too late. Or how deep the water was. He didn't notice until he ran out of strength.

Panic flared while the child splashed, fighting to keep himself from sinking. "Dad…!" His small, petrified voice was nowhere near enough to carry to the shore. Especially with how loud the fight between his father and brother was getting.

For a few, terrifying seconds Clint's mouth slipped under the intensifying waves. Sheer terror beginning to take over, he struggled and struggled. But despite his young age he knew that it wouldn't be enough. Tears filled his desperate, wide eyes while they stared at the two people screaming at each other, a miserable distance away.

"Dad…!" he tried, putting his all to the effort. "Barn…!" The two didn't so much as glance his way.

Then a particularly strong wave came, and swept him under.

The water was darker than he'd anticipated, when it was trying to drag him under and crush him. Clint's lungs burned and he opened his mouth for a scream. Which only intensified the sensation of suffocating.

Clint realized that this had to be what drowning felt like, and had never been quite so scared in his entire life.

As someone small even for his age, Clint made up for what he lacked in size with his stubbornness. He fought a war, and somehow managed to break the surface once more. He gasped anxiously, and tried to look towards the shore. His father and brother still hadn't noticed a thing.

Clint gathered every little ounce of will he had left for his one last attempt. It wasn't much. He hoped from the bottom of his furiously hammering heart that it was enough. "Dad…!"

His cry went unheard. A second later another wave came, dragging him down. Clint knew that he wouldn't have enough strength to swim up again. All the five-year-old could do was sink helplessly, the sunlight streaming from up above blinding him.

Just before darkness came Clint was sure, for the first time in his life, that was going to die.

Clint woke up in a hospital. His father was nowhere to be seen. His brother, who sat sulking in a corner, seemed genuinely sorry despite trying to hide it. His mother told him, with tears in her eyes, that he had a pneumonia. The child had no idea what that was. He did understand, all too clearly, when his mother whimpered that he almost died. Eventually a nurse had to give her medicine to calm her down. Clint trembled, feeling colder than ever before. His heart still hammered from sheer terror. He wanted someone to tell him that he'd be okay, that he was safe. He needed a hug. None of the people around him realized to give him one, and he had no voice to ask for it.

In fact, Clint didn't utter a word for three full weeks.

His father remained missing for a week. Until Clint woke up one night to the far too familiar noise of his parents fighting. The debacle ended to the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh, then stairs creaked. His father smelled of alcohol, sweat and tears. Clint couldn't stop shivering and tried to pretend that he was asleep as the bed dipped under the man's weight. He stared at the wall with wide eyes while his father broke down to sobs.

That night Clint only slept for an hour. And dreamt of the waves swallowing him. The following morning he found his parents from the kitchen, his father with a bottle of cheap whiskey and his mother with a bruise on her face. Both had been crying.

"Your mother and I talked", his father announced. "I, ah… misjudged your skills. And…" The man swallowed loudly. "I'm… sorry." The man met his eyes only briefly, as though too afraid to look longer. Strange. Grownups weren't supposed to be scared of anything, Barney always said so. "Before I take you swimming again you need lessons. I'm going to give one this weekend. How does that sound, son?" He was too young to hear and understand the desperate hope.

Clint shook his head vehemently. Because no matter how hard he tried to trust his father, he couldn't. He never felt safe around water since.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Poor, poor Clint…! He sure didn't have the best family. (winces) We'll see just what he'll encounter next…

Sooooo… Was that any good? At all? PLEASE, do leave a note! I LOVE hearing from you.

In any case, THANK YOU so much for reading! Who knows. Maybe I'll even see you again one day.

Take care!


	2. Fire

A/N: Yuuuuup. My head decided to cook up the second one of these. (grins) Yay?

THANK YOU, so very much, for all your reviews, listings and support! I'm INSANELY happy that you've decided to join in for the ride. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I change my mind… Let's go! If the previous chapter was painful… Well, this is gonna hurt a bit, too… (winces)

* * *

Fire

* * *

Sometimes Clint needed a break, already as a child. A small breather outside the miserable, uncertain walls of his home. Most of the time his father was too drunk and his mother too… preoccupied to notice that he was away for a while. Barney, busy with schemes of his own, didn't usually care. That rainy day of October wasn't one of those days when no one noticed.

Clint was wet and miserable as he sat on the backseat of his father's car, ten minutes after he'd been found from a park. He was trembling and the bruise forming to his face already stung horribly. Hard as he tried not to cry, a couple of tears spilled.

"… idea how worried we were?" his father roared. The man focused on the road far less than he should've. "Never, ever run away like that again!"

"Harold, please, he's…!" his mother tried but was quickly silenced by a terrifying glare. The reek of stale alcohol made the car's air even more menacing than it had been. Even Barney, who didn't usually hesitate to loudmouth against their father, was too scared to talk.

Clint swallowed thickly, and found that his throat was sore. "I'm sorry, dad", he murmured. This time he'd deserved the bruise on his face, hadn't he? "I just… I wanted to…"

"We spent over an hour looking for you in pouring rain!" his father roared. "Do you have any idea how scared we were? Or what could've happened to you!" The man was trembling visibly. "I don't care why you did it! You're never going to pull a stunt like this again!"

If Clint had felt miserable before… He sobbed once, unable to hold it back. "I… I didn't think you'd notice."

His mother emitted a pained noise and wiped her eyes. His father shuddered. Then, despite driving too fast, turned to look towards him. With a horrible, heartbreaking look in his eyes that the child had never seen before. (Years upon years later, the boy grown up to a man mused that it was the one and only time they actually saw each other.) The man's lips opened as though in slowed motion. Clint would wonder, for the rest of his life, what his father would've said him.

Because just then the lights of a car coming from the opposite direction blinded him. His mother screamed, as did the car's breaks and tires. The night was suddenly horrifyingly loud. Before it all ended to a deafening crash that sounded like the end of the world.

Which, really, it was.

Clint honestly thought that he died. Until _everything_ came back. Pain, so intense that for a while he was sure that a part of him had been torn off. He shuddered at the nauseating, coppery taste in his mouth. Then, slowly, his hearing returned. "Kid!" The unfamiliar voice sounded static to his ears. "… hear me …?"

Slowly and with a ridiculous amount of effort Clint wrestled his eyes halfway open. The blurry figure hovering above him cleared slowly, to allow him to see a paramedic. "… get you out of here …"

Clint was desperate to ask about his family. His parents… Barney… Were they…? But all he could utter was a pathetic, terrified and agonized whimper.

The man seemed ready to say something, before the paramedic's eyes widened. And all of a sudden the man had him in his arms. Clint was hauled up harshly, ignoring his protests and cries, before the man ran, holding on to him nearly desperately.

The paramedic did his best to shield the boy from the sight. But Clint fought against the pain he was in and peered up at just the right, or wrong, moment. And saw fire. A lot of it, rising from the depths of his parents' car.

His parents… They were still sitting there. Eyes closed, unmoving…

The child's eyes widened, became wild. "MOM!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs, not caring about how much it hurt. What were they doing?! This wasn't the time to sleep! "MOM! DAD!"

For what he lacked in size, Clint had always made up in speed. The man holding him had no hope of stopping him. He bit down, and felt guilty instantly. When the paramedic dropped him with a yelp he sprinted to motion like a rocket. Hoping, hoping…

The explosion painted the whole forest with red and orange. Flames rose with roars of triumph. The blast tossed the boy backwards and to the ground like a ragdoll. And he knew nothing more for a very long time.

* * *

Clint figured out that he was in a hospital long before he opened his eyes. The smell made him want to vomit. Pain and the medication he'd been given for it did little to help. Nor did the horrible, deafening ringing of his ears. He clawed at his ears, unaware of the whimpers he emitted upon doing so. Desperate to make the noise stop.

A gentle but firm hand grabbed his wrist. Startled, he opened his eyes. There was a woman he'd never seen before sitting beside his bed. Her sad, brown eyes looked at him with open pity while her lips moved with words he had no hope of catching.

A social worker. Clint had seen enough of those to recognize her as one. But what was she doing…?

Then, with a weight that nearly crushed the small, injured child, the truth landed on him. The explosion… His parents…

Uninvited and unwanted, tears filled Clint's eyes while he howled from the kind of agony no medication would take away.

* * *

The next time Clint woke up, wondering when he fell asleep or lost consciousness, his ears were still ringing. Not quite as badly as earlier but still. All painkillers had seized to have impact and he curled up the best as he could, hoping to seal himself away from the whole world.

Until he froze at the sight of Barney sitting on a hospital bed nearby. The bitter look in his brother's eyes as they met his chilled him. Even more than the accusation he deserved. "It's your fault that they're dead." He barely caught his big-brother's hissed words. Wished he hadn't. His inability to respond seemed to add fuel to Barney's fire. "They're dead! We're going to the system! Do you have any idea what a nightmare that is? Are you happy, now!" Tears filled the boy's eyes, and it was one of the very few times Clint saw his brother terrified. "I'll never forgive you for this!"

His parents' were the first of the great many deaths of which Clint took the blame upon himself – and he never forgave himself, either.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Poor, poor Clint…! (whimpers) Taking blame for something like THIS, which was none of his fault… And who wants to slap Barney, just a little bit? Hands up if you do!

AND, of course… Was that ANY good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you makes my day.

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all join in for 'Air'.

Take care!

* * *

 **Carry692** : Clint's father was a LOUSY excuse of a parent. But… I think he did care, in his own… pretty horrible way. SO GLAD that you liked that side showing! AND, especially that you found the chapter realistic! (BEAMS) Poor Clint, though! I ABSOLUTELY WOULDN'T HAVE trusted after that, either.

Massive thank yous for the review! Until next time.

ps: Awww, don't worry! I seriously CAN'T force myself into typing, if I don't feel like it. I can only write when my head's in the right place for it. (smiles) And, for some reason my head operates better when I have many projects going on. (chuckles)


	3. Air

A/N: Heh! I already thought that I wouldn't be able to update this tale today. BUT, here we are! Yay?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews and support! It means A LOT that you've chosen to take this tiny journey with me. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all sappy… Let's go! The previous chapter was PAINFUL. This time we'll face something kinder.

* * *

Air

* * *

Clint's hearing never returned fully. For a very long time the ringing of his ears remained, causing him nearly constant agony and discomfort. Which didn't make him any easier to deal with, when pain, guilt and anger festered inside him. He made his own recovery more difficult by not letting any medical professional touch and examine him properly, by barely uttering a non-hostile word to anyone. Eventually they all gave up on him. Just like social workers. (Which, for some ridiculous reason, stung.)

He and Barney were unadoptable. It was never said out loud but Clint knew it, saw it from the pity in a lot of adults' eyes. They were too old and too angry, not adorable enough. Which meant that they'd never get to go back to the place they called home, nor would they ever get a new home. So was it any wonder that when they entered the orphanage, Clint felt like he'd arrived to a prison.

Clint stayed away from other children and adult alike as much as he could. Such a crowded place didn't sit well with his ears, and he had no intention of bonding with anyone. Sometimes staying away and alone worked, far too often it didn't. The other children were quick to sniff someone so different from them, and it didn't help matters that he was small for his age. Clint fought back with all his might but it just wasn't enough. He got beaten up more times than he could or wanted to count. He never complained, only shrugged when someone asked him about the bruises. Nor did he tell anyone about the horrible nightmares and panic attacks he had. He simply endured, because it was his fault that things turned out that way and he deserved it all.

And then, after what felt like a decade in the orphanage, life changed again. He'd noticed that Barney liked the place as little as he did. Still it came as a surprise when his brother woke him up in the middle of one night, a dark look on his face. "We're going. Now." (His opinion had no value. It was his fault that they were there, and he was lucky that he was even asked along.)

Clint never found out why Barney chose that very night to leave, but they didn't look back even once.

They walked, and walked. In pouring, ice-cold rain, through a nearly impossible landscape. For ages, it seemed. Clint was sure that he'd pass out from exhaustion, hunger and ache until they suddenly stopped. What they found was Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders. Along with men named Jacques and Buck.

Life at the circus was far from easy. To be allowed to stay the boys had to work hard. Barney obviously struggled to adjust but Clint didn't mind. Brutal physical labor made it easier to sleep dreamlessly. The occasional smacks from Buck didn't sting half as badly as those his father used to deliver. And his more than half-deaf ears, which would probably never stop ringing entirely, caught only parts of the man's roaring. (If the two men noticed his hearing-difficulties, they didn't care or mention it.)

It wasn't all bad. He loved the animals of the circus. And one day Clint grew frustrated with Buck and threw a rotten apple at the man's head. Instead of getting beaten he was allowed to try throwing other things. When it became apparent that he had an exceptional aim he was given a bow, along with a practice-arrow. It hit the target only narrowly but the tingling it left to Clint's fingers… It was like being truly alive for the first time in his life.

Buck scoffed. And ruffled his hair with an unexpectedly gentle hand. "You need practice, brat."

Clint grinned. Then relaxed. It didn't occur to him until years later that it hurt to relax because he'd been tense for so long.

* * *

Aside the cages of the most dangerous animals, there was only one place in the circus Clint wasn't supposed to approach. And that was the tightrope, along with the trapeze-artists' equipment. (Ridiculous, really. Buck and Jacques themselves admitted that they hadn't had a proper tightrope artist in years.) Which made him as drawn to them as a moth to a flame.

One night, when nightmares and a threatening panic attack kept him from being able to sleep, Clint finally gave in to his urge. He tiptoed closer and stared, feeling the pull like a physical force. Before he'd thought it through he was climbing. Then, soon, higher than ever in his life.

Clint had always enjoyed climbing trees and he had no problem with heights. But something like this… He was terrified out of his mind. Until he wasn't. And questioned his sanity. Until he didn't. Because the second his bare feet brushed the rope something happened. After the first three steps he finally realized that it was.

For the first time in his life he felt like he was home.

His balance didn't weaver even once while he lifted his gaze and aimed even higher. What he saw there, just within reach, was a swing. His hands, still quite small but by no means weak, grabbed with all the stubbornness he had. Pulled him up, up, higher, higher. Until, somehow, he was sitting on the swing. Then he noticed the rope, and decided that a simple swing wasn't enough of a challenge.

It was like he'd learned to fly. Air caressed his face gently while he spun and jumped. On occasion upside down, using everything he could find. One moment he was rushing head-first towards the ground, then corrected his position with a graceful motion and was flying upwards once more. When the flight ended he began to climb up the rope like a squirrel, determined to get all the way up once more. As soon as he was there he tested the tightrope again. His feet definitely seemed to have fond a second home from there. And he laughed, the sound bubbling through his lips. Genuine joy, the kind he'd never experienced before, swell in the chest where his heart was hammering.

Up there it didn't matter that he was too small for his age. Or that he couldn't hear like he was supposed to. He didn't need to play a role, put up a fight. Up there no one was pushing him to do things he wasn't ready for.

It was a bliss.

He wasn't sure how long he kept testing his own limits until he finally looked down. And felt his stomach squeeze into a tight ball at the discovery that Buck was watching him with sharp, unreadable eyes. Mentally bracing himself for a verbal beating, or something worse, Clint made his way down with unexpected speed.

Bucky's loud, booming voice was easy to catch even with his poor ears. "How many times have I told you, brat? No going up there."

Clint shrugged. Because, really… What else could he do? "Sorry." He really should've tried to sound sincerer.

Buck's fist balled. But it didn't strike him. "You need hell a lot of practice. But… I'll admit that you impressed me." Those words didn't seem to come easily from the proud man. "You want to hang around up there? Fine. But you'd better start making money with it soon."

Clint's eyes shone. He didn't know it, but for the first time since his parents' death he looked his age, rather than someone a decade older. "I get to go up there again?" No, he didn't want the attention of people. He preferred operating out of sight, in his own peace. But if performing was the price he'd have to pay to be granted access to where he felt at home… Then so be it. "Am I gonna get a stage-name?"

Buck smirked. "I've seen you shooting arrows and throwing knives. That gave me an idea…"

About two months later Clint was called in for the first time as The Amazing Hawkeye. He didn't care about the audience, mainly because the noise they made was little more than background buzz to him. He didn't feel nervous or scared. All he felt while flying through the air was freedom, and he embraced it with a genuine smile.

He never saw Barney watching him, resentment and jealousy burning like black fires in the older boy's eyes.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Because surely Clint's life wasn't ALL bad. (smiles fondly) Even if this life, too, was eventually stolen from him, at least he got a taste.

SOOOOO… How was that? ANY good, at all? PLEASE, leave a note! Hearing from you makes my day every single time.

Until next time! I REALLY hope that you'll all join in for that one.

Take care!

* * *

 **Carry692** : Hard indeed! (whimpers) Poor, poor Clint! To lose his parents like that… (shudders) And that, indeed, was the first firm push to make Barney resent his brother. (gulps)

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


	4. Earth

A/N: The last of the four elements, and thus the final chapter, is upon us! Soon we'll see how Earth shaped Clint. BUT, first…

THANK YOU, so much, for your reviews and support! They mean more to me than you know. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Earth

* * *

Life wasn't done giving Clint its cruel little lessons just yet.

The circus was his safe place. A safe haven. Jacques taught him how to use a sword, Buck taught him archery and they both educated him on hand-to-hand. Life… was finally good, he felt like he belonged. Until Barney had enough and left. (After expressing very clearly how disappointed in Clint he was over not going along.) And almost immediately afterwards Jacques betrayed him, and the circus. In the worst way imaginable. Nearly killed him. Clint tried, he really did, but the circus didn't feel like a home anymore after that. So he did the only thing that felt logical. He packed his few belongings and left without any sort of a destination. Homeless yet again.

Clint remained all alone for a long time after that. (Too long.) He made a lot of bad decisions, because those seemed to be his specialty. It was a rather miserable life but he figured that it was just what he brought upon himself and endured.

Clint had just turned fifteen when he got into a 'worse than average' trouble. Such that could've easily cost him his life. He was shocked beyond all belief when Buck showed up to save him. (How the man even knew that he was in a trouble, he'd never know.) The man ensured that he recovered. Then offered him a job. The unvoiced but clearly present words 'You owe me' made Clint accept although he knew better. (He already lost Barney because he let his brother down, and he didn't want to lose anyone else.)

It was just robbing ridiculously rich criminals. Nothing to lose sleep over. What could go wrong?

For a while everything did go well. Suspiciously so. Until one arrow at a criminal's bodyguard on a stormy night. Until he looked into his victim's eyes and realized that he was staring at Barney. At Barney, who was dying because of him, with him being able to do nothing to stop it. And like things weren't bad enough already, Buck showed up demanding that they had to leave.

But Clint couldn't. Surely Buck understood that? He couldn't leave his brother. Couldn't…

An arrow hit him moments before Buck left him to bleed. Clint's blood spilled and joined Barney's. Soon, when more and more bodyguards appeared, the teenage archer had no other choice but to leave. In the morning Clint was told that Barney died. The younger brother nearly lost his life as well to his infected wound.

Clint survived, but just like the losses before the new ones carved away a piece of him, left him a little hollower.

Once again all alone in the world, with some more burden to carry on his shoulders, Clint continued to make bad decisions. Granted, he was very good at what he did. Enough so to bring him to S.H.I.E.L.D's radar.

* * *

The young, injured, pained and terribly angry, tightly handcuffed mess Phil Coulson found from a hospital did anything and everything imaginable to seem unlikeable. Too bad. Phil was fond of him instantly, anyway. And decided that he'd do something about the fire of mistrust in those eyes.

Almost everyone else questioned Phil's sanity.

In the first five months since having been brought to S.H.I.E.L.D Clint destroyed two training rooms. Beat up at least twenty other boys in the training system. Eight of them to a point of sustaining broken bones. (To be fair, five of them deserved it after trying to bully him over being smaller than the rest, weird and quiet. And one poor, unfortunate soul made the mistake of trying to approach the boy when he was in the middle of a flashback. Phil himself got several unpleasant tastes of those.) Six instructors announced that either they'd leave the system or Clint would.

"Are you sure that he's worth all this hassle?" Nick Fury groaned at last, after the latest… incident.

"He is", Phil announced firmly, without a shadow of a doubt. With thoughtful eyes he observed the boy in question, who was currently target practicing with a bow and arrows. Every time someone passed him by Clint shivered. In fact… A lot of times when Clint attacked someone the person approached him from behind. The realization came to him like a bolt of lightning. "You know, I think we should get his hearing tested."

Fury snorted. And took a sip of nauseatingly strong coffee. "You seriously think he'll consent to that?"

Clint did consent. After facing two options. He'd go through the same checkup every other trainee did, or he'd be kicked out of the system. It was a horrible experience on both the boy and the woman examining him. Phil felt genuinely sorry for her, even after the death-glare she darted at him.

A few days later Phil tossed a small box at Clint. Curious and suspicious, the boy caught it effortlessly and opened it. Questioning eyes rose to meet the man's when long archer's fingers dug out a hearing aid.

Phil shrugged. "I'm not sure I'll ever get you to listen to me. But this way you at least have a choice."

Clint's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?" It was asked with a heartbreaking amount of genuine confusion. Like the boy had never been given a gift before without being asked for something in return.

"Because you deserve it", Phil replied with equal honesty.

Clint didn't seem to believe him but said nothing. Two days later an exasperated looking instructor announced that the boy beat up someone over badmouthing Phil behind the man's back. He concluded that it was the only way the archer could think of to say 'thank you'. (And realized, with a heavy sigh, that they'd need to have another talk about controlling one's temper.)

A week later Phil finally caught the boy actually using the hearing aid.

* * *

Slowly yet surely the anger, most of which was aimed at himself, that'd been eating Clint alive began to settle. The weight of guilt would never disappear. But it got easier to breathe. And he began to wonder if he'd finally found a permanent home.

Phil Coulson confused him. The man's honesty and kindness were such he wasn't used to. He kept expecting his handler to betray him. After all, wasn't that what everyone else had done, sooner or later? He kept waiting for the bomb to go off, for a disaster to strike. But that never happened, and the wait for the inevitable left him anxious.

Until one day of late spring, when he was on one of his first missions.

Clint had always loved forests. And when it came to climbing trees he was a natural. There, high up on a perch of his liking, he had a full view to everything. Or so he imagined.

There was absolutely no way Clint could've seen the bullet coming. No prior intel had warned them that this particular criminal organization's cell had a sniper at their disposal. The mission was almost over when the boy felt it. A sting. Then burning. Then sheer agony. He looked down with a gasp, and blinked twice upon discovering a bleeding wound right above his stomach area. He stared at it incredulously for a few moments, like not quite understanding what it was. He never registered his lips moving, nor did he hear his own whispering voice. "Coulson…!" Since the day on the beach when his father let him down, that was the first time he asked anyone for help. He didn't realize that, either. Because he was busy with the slowly dawning understanding that he was falling.

The forest spun above him as he lay on the ground. He blinked slowly every now and then, marveling the tall trees and the beautiful nature spreading everywhere around him. The forest-floor was shockingly soft and comfortable underneath him. It wouldn't have been a bad place to die, not at all. Besides, didn't everyone return to earth's embrace eventually?

The only problem was that he really didn't want to die, not yet.

Clint was too out of it to understand why his eyes blurred when Phil appeared to hoover above him. Why hadn't the man just left him there? And why did his handler seem… anguished, almost?

Phil's lips moved constantly but Clint was in no state of mind to catch the words. Instead he gasped. Never knowing that he succeeded in whimpering out a word. "Phil…!"

'It's okay.' Phil's lips moved slowly, reassuringly. Grounded his panicked mind. 'You'll be okay. I promise.'

When everything faded to black Clint was no longer scared.

* * *

Upon waking up Clint could still smell the ground and the forest. Until the false sensation was replaced by the sterile reek of S.H.I.E.L.D's medical wing. He opened his eyes faster than would've been advisable and squinted them fiercely against the blinding assault of light, fully prepared to fight. Until his line of vision cleared enough to reveal the tired but smiling face of Dr. Winter. She was the only medical professional in the whole world he could stand. It made sense that they'd chosen her to handle him.

"Welcome back." Apparently his hearing aid was in place, because her voice was slightly static but audible. "You got yourself hurt pretty badly, so no escapades or other stupidities for a while. Understood?"

He scowled and scoffed.

Dr. Winter rolled her eyes, already used to his antics. "Try to get some rest before trying to run away for the first time, at least." She nodded to her right. "And let him sleep." She leaned closer conspiratorially. "I think he's been up for the last couple of nights, watching over you."

Curious, Clint turned his head. There, sitting on a visibly uncomfortable chair right beside his bed, Phil slept. Loud evidence of exhaustion all over his face. Turned so that before falling asleep he'd been keeping an eye on both him and the door. Phil had been keeping watch for them both, for as long as he could.

Clint stared, uncomprehending.

Not only had Phil stayed, even after he failed at his job. Even after he was injured and useless. But the man also wanted to make sure that he wouldn't leave, either. It gave the boy who'd been abandoned by everyone else a lot to think about.

Then, like he wasn't overwhelmed enough already, he discovered a cupcake on the small table beside the bed. There was a note underneath it, written in his handler's familiar handwriting. ' _Happy 19th Birthday!_ '

It was the first one of his birthdays someone actually remembered.

* * *

When Phil woke up he discovered immediately that his young protégé had been awake at some point. At the moment the boy slept with his back turned towards him. Most people would've imagined it to be a sign of rejection. Phil smiled, because he knew Clint well enough to take the turned back as the sign of trust it was.

Clint finally trusted someone else to have his back.

Then Phil's gaze traveled further. To discover that half of the cupcake had been left uneaten and pushed towards him. Some more writing had appeared under his own, in Clint's messy handwriting. ' _Thank you._ '

If Phil teared up, just a little bit, no one would ever have to know.

* * *

Life had taught Clint to never, ever trust anyone. Even those closest to him. (Especially them.) Because sooner or later everyone would betray him. Or leave him. Or both. Those harsh lessons built an armor of steel around his heart. Taking the risk of leaving that shell, working against everything his life so far had taught him… It wasn't easy. And the marks his past experiences, good and bad, left on him would always remain.

Clint's heart had always been too big for his own good. That was why it'd been harmed so many times. But slowly yet surely he learned to trust. First there was Phil Coulson. Then, gradually, others. And he realized that he wasn't all alone in the world, after all.

Forget about shooting arrows and dangling on a tightrope, _that_ was the greatest thing he'd ever discovered in his life.

Years later – when the four elements of the world had shaped him into a grown man who was Clint Barton – he met Natalia Romanova, and knew exactly what he wanted to teach her.

* * *

 ** _End_**

* * *

A/N: Awwww! Hooray for happy endings? Clint DEFINITELY deserved one.

SOOOOOO… Was this conclusion any good, at all? PLEASE, let me know! I'd LOVE to hear from you.

AND THANK YOU, to all those who have been sticking around through this whole, strange little ride! You're amazing. (HUGS) Who knows, maybe I'll see you again.

Take care!


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